Somewhere between an advanced drum instructional video and the rawest, noisiest skronk this side of Brian Gibson is Brian Chippendale’s one man drum ‘n’ samples ‘n’ singing inside his homemade Lucha Libre mask thing, Black Pus. Chippendale’s Myspace does no justice to the sheer wreckage left strewn in your ear canal after a Black Pus set. It does have this precious crowd-commentary, though:
Black Pus Fan Gushes True Love
And while you may need to pilgrimage out to a show to grit your teeth against the full experience, the pile of pedals at Chippendale’s feet are tied to samples, which means recognizable strings of melody and static that may or may not coalesce into structural lines of sound sometimes called songs. You know, take what you will, but wear some ear plugs.
Likewise, Necking were at their best last night when their unforgiving decibel levels had three and four note riffs to coast on, so that when Rop Vazquez was throwing low end feedback loops through the PA, there was a gnarly guitar line that the double drum attack could lean on, and a pulse against which singer’s waterboard vocals could drown. But that’s just about the audience and their penchant to find something they can nod a head at. They’ve nailed ultimate freak out sessions that teeter somewhere on the brink of structural collapse (see: “John Wayne’s Violent Sneeze” for reference).
Years ago I talked to the dude in Jeff the Brotherhood when they were just JEFF and dude was playing in Be Your Own Pet. I guess he was a teenager at the time (perhaps he’s still a teenager?). At the time, I was assigned to ask him about the blonde chick fronting his cute punk band and how they got on Ecstatic Peace etc. etc., but he seemed far more interested in the fact that he was embarking on a tour from hometown Nashville soon after the one he was currently stuck on, riding some van through the Arizona desert to LA. Guess that worked out for him: Be Your Own Pet being no more, and Jeff being a pretty rad Ramones ‘n’ Delta Blues hybrid drum guitar thing, the coolest part of which was definitely the proto punk-jammy sort of freak out they ended their set with, and the giant crate of records they’re bringing around with them to sell for gas money (Pristine Sugarhill Gang LP: $8!).
And then there was Tussle, on tour right now with Ratatat, rendering the night, y’know, eclectic. Except that they, like Necking, are from California, and also like that noise quintet, started their shit off real slow-burn style- so slow-burn a friend of mine wasn’t sure whether what we heard going down in the next room was sound check or pre-jam wankery. Turns out it was a bit of the latter. Once they caught on fire around the twenty minute point, their earlier experiments tossed around the DBA cutting room floor, they betrayed that their intentions were to give us a good time. Their recorded stuff is fun and funky, too.